


Almost a Kiss

by ownedbyacat



Series: Sane, Safe, Alive [14]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bowtie, Fluff, M/M, SHIELD Husbands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-16
Updated: 2014-02-16
Packaged: 2018-01-12 16:22:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1191825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ownedbyacat/pseuds/ownedbyacat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stuck in a safe house after an op, Coulson works and Clint does a fine job of being oblivious.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Almost a Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> I love stories that turn on me while I'm writing. Here I was planning to indulge in a bit of food porn laced with fluff and write a story of Clint taking care of Coulson after a mission. It didn't quite turn out that way....

Even stuck in a safe house in the middle of Norway waiting for an extraction Phil Coulson couldn’t relax. He hunched over his laptop, glasses slightly crooked, tapping away industriously. Now and then his fingers would slow and slide off the keyboard, only for his hand to reach blindly for the coffee mug at his elbow. Once he’d topped up the caffeine levels he’d go right back to his typing.

Clint was stretched out on the sofa under a thick blanket to ward off the chill and pretended to read one of the ramshackle paperbacks he dragged around in his go bag. He knew the book almost by heart, so it wasn’t a hardship to peek over the rim and let himself be entertained by his handler instead.

He had been watching his companion for almost two hours and there was no other way to say it, Coulson looked exhausted. His lids were so heavy he almost needed props to keep them open. How he kept working efficiently was anyone’s guess. Clint’s money was on sheer cussedness and near-lethal levels of caffeine. There had been that weird health and safety seminar Coulson made him attend after the drugs in the dishwasher incident. The trainer had been the scariest woman Clint had ever met – and he knew Natasha! – but hadn’t she said something about caffeine being a poison? One that you neutralised with.... with... Clint couldn’t remember. Coulson probably knew, but Clint didn’t want to ask. Neither did he want to borrow Coulson’s laptop and look it up.

They’d been on back to back missions for weeks now and the brutal schedule was reflected in Coulson’s gaunt cheeks and in the deep shadows under his eyes. First, there had been Lithuania and the reported necromancer who turned out to be a serial killer with a penchant for performance art. From there, they’d headed straight to Aden to shut down a major drugs lab. Natasha and Sitwell had been along for that op, but even with the four of them working as a team they still had to call for reinforcements. The cleanup had taken another two weeks and then Nat had been sent to Kiev while Coulson and Clint ended up in Geiranger. It was one of those places that Clint had taken an immediate shine to. And as usual, that meant serious trouble.

Clint was a strong swimmer. He knew how to fight underwater. He was proficient with a spear gun and other tools that had never seen the inside of a bait & tackle shop. He just didn’t like it. So of course karma decided that all Geiranger’s secrets lay under the surface of that breathtaking fjord.

“Shit!”

Coulson’s head snapped up at Clint’s sudden, unexpected outburst.

“Nothing, nothing… go back to work,” Clint placated, pushing the blanket aside and sliding off the couch. It wasn’t the first time Clint had almost died. And given what he did for a living, it wouldn’t be the last. “I’m going to cook us some dinner. You said the place was stocked.”

“It should be,” Coulson replied slowly. “Not sure what they’ve stocked it with, though.”

“I’ll find something, don’t worry.”

Clint escaped from the living room into the quiet of the kitchen, where he leaned on the counter and drew one deep breath after another. His ribs protested the movement and when he focused he could taste the salty bitterness of seawater in the back of his throat. He’d been shot, he’d been stabbed, he’d been poisoned. He’d jumped off tall buildings without anyone there to catch him. Almost drowning shouldn’t bother him. And yet, each painful breath said otherwise.

“Clint?”

Coulson’s voice came from the doorway and Clint straightened his back a little. He didn’t loosen his tight grip on the edge of the counter and he closed his eyes before he spoke. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t have to cook.”

“I want to. You look as if you could do with a hot dinner.”

Coulson hesitated, then his shoes squeaked on the lino as he turned to head back to the living room. “Yell if you need a hand,” he said softly, before Clint was alone again.

He unclenched his fingers and let his head drop almost to the worktop. Nausea boiled up to join forces with the burn in his lungs. The seawater taste in his mouth made him gag. Clint clamped his mouth shut and breathed, in and out, slow and steady, ignoring the pain in his chest until the bout of nausea was gone. Did he really find it so difficult to accept that the concern in his handler’s voice was genuine?

 _Your usual dense self, I see,_ Natasha’s voice mocked in his mind and Clint smiled. Just thinking of Nat made him feel better. That woman didn’t take shit from anyone. Clint and Coulson included.

Clint straightened up and went to inspect their supplies. To his delight, he found more than just MREs and ready meals. There was fish in the freezer, salmon and cod and even a bag of shrimps. The fridge held fresh milk, butter and eggs. And when Clint found the potatoes he knew that they’d be dining well this night.

The very mundane tasks of chopping and peeling, simmering and stirring, mashing and assembling calmed him down further and by the time the oven was hot and the fish pie ready to be baked, Clint was whistling and remembering Coulson’s fine ass clad in neoprene as he’d arrived just in time to save Clint from having the lines to his oxygen tank cut. Even if Clint hadn’t appreciated the assist, he would have appreciated the way Coulson looked at that moment, all sleek, deadly predator and utterly focused.

The tapping noises coming from the living room had stopped some time ago, but Clint chose not to investigate. He tidied the kitchen while the pie baked, the mindless work relaxing him further. When the kitchen gleamed and deliciously scented steam issued from the oven he set the table. And only then did he allow himself to return to the living room to look for his handler.

Coulson was sitting in the same spot he'd occupied earlier, only now his head was back against the edge of the high-backed chair and his eyes were closed. One arm hung straight by his side. The fingers of the other hand were curled around the wireless mouse he liked to use. The top two buttons of his shirt were undone, granting Clint a glimpse of collarbone and the hollow of Coulson’s throat. A wash of heat settled low in his gut at the sight and Clint swallowed. His mind might still be undecided and unsure, but his body knew exactly what it liked.

Over the last few weeks - while they tiptoed around each other, careful not to upset the delicate balance of their reforming friendship - Clint had started to take note of Phil Coulson once more. He wasn’t just aware of Coulson’s location at all times. He watched how the man moved, was on the lookout for signs of exhaustion or hidden injuries. He noticed other things, too: the way the smooth fabric of Coulson’s suits hugged the trim frame, how it outlined shoulders and a long, sleek back or how a pair of fitted jeans showed off a killer ass much better than dress pants. There’d been times when Clint had been tempted to reach out and touch, casually, like they used to.

Coulson’s breath came out in little huffs between barely parted lips and Clint found him utterly adorable. Not that Coulson wouldn’t kill him with his bare hands – or the wireless mouse – if he startled the man. But the way he sat right then, Clint wanted nothing so much as drop a soft kiss on Coulson’s forehead. He’d never before considered kissing his handler, but as soon as he’d had the idea, it became an almost irresistible temptation. He took one step further into the room, and Phil Coulson opened his eyes.

“Dinner is ready,” Clint said.

***

“I’ll take first watch,” Coulson declared as Clint stacked the empty dishes to take them to the kitchen. “Leave the washing up. Just get some sleep.”

Clint straightened and opened his mouth to argue, but Coulson got there first. “If I sleep now, I won’t get up again,” he admitted. “It’s easier to stay awake for a little longer and let you get some sleep first.”

“Wake me when you can’t keep your eyes open?” Clint offered casually. He expected a denial, but instead Coulson nodded gratefully.

Clint curled up on his side under a mountain of blankets. He was safe and warm but much too keyed up to sleep. He tensed and released fingers and toes, rolled his shoulders and flexed his abs. His body relaxed while he breathed slowly and carefully. The earlier nausea didn’t return, neither did the ache in his throat. His mind finally calmed, his body grew heavy and he hovered on the edge of sleep when he heard Coulson slip through the half-open bedroom door and cross the room. The man wasn’t a threat so Clint didn’t rouse at his approach, too tired and too close to sleep to move or even think. Phil stood silently beside the bed for a long moment and Clint was just about to open his eyes to see if he was merely imagining Coulson’s presence, when he heard the soft whisper.

“I thought I’d lost you….”

Clint hadn’t moved. Now he stopped breathing. Heat bloomed in his chest and his heart raced until the rapid beating was all he could hear. Coulson didn’t say stuff like this. Not while they were on a mission. Not ever. So either Clint was dreaming or… The soft touch to his head, like fingers lightly brushing the very tips of his hair, was so unexpected that Clint’s tired mind refused to deal with it. He had just decided he was dreaming when he felt the faintest hint of a touch on his forehead. It could have been a breath of air, it could have been almost a kiss. But before he could even acknowledge the sensation, Clint was asleep.


End file.
